The Devil's Apprentice

CHAPTER 3— IMAGINARY JAR

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The darkness knows his name, it calls out him and he has no other option, but to answer with a bloody red trail.

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Emmanuel groaned as he rolled out of bed, he'd been lying down; fully awake, trying but obviously failing to reconnect with the dream he had previously woken up from.

He wanted an happy ending and the fact that there was a survivor made him sad.

Why couldn't he have killed her before Lucifer called? He was conscious that it was a dream, but why was he so damn slow?

Why was he so...?

Sighing, he decided to stop dwelling on his uselessness in the dream and instead focus on his next victim.

He was already behind and if Jonathan got more kills than him this month, he's seriously gonna kill him. So to avoid such a terrible act, he looked down at the back of his hand, searching it for a name.

Meghan soil, that was written in a dark, bold text on his skin.

It was a women, Emmanuel was sure, however to hunt he needed more than just a name.

Stretching over to the bedside table, Emmanuel grabbed the brown coloured folder, immediately digging his index finger between the cover and the first page, successfully pulling it open.

He thoroughly searched through it until he found a file that matched the name that tainted his hand.

Meghan Soil— 22 years old, blond, five feet, seven inches tall and suicidal.

Occupation: prostitution.

Address: south street, lot 23.

Workplace address:.................44 Crescent road and blah blah blah.

Emmanuel dropped the folder after completely analyzing and processing the photo at the top.

She was beautiful and she'd look even better with blood draining like water down her lithe body.

Her skin seemed soft and flawlessly elegant, but sadly that just made Emmanuel want to cruelly taint it with bruises and bloody scratches even more.

Just seeing her awakened his ruthless beast, he could feel the bloodlust, so much so that it took him less than 15 minutes to shower and get ready.

Now wearing a fitting black suit and a shiny black shoes that went along with it, he stepped outside of his house with his briefcase of torture tools in hand.

Sadly, it wasn't raining blood outside instead the morning sun was out, shining like the ball of ferocious fire it was.

It clouded his vision, slightly burnt the naked skin of his hand and face and surely made the shoe he wore glisten even more.

He walked to his black Mercedes that was parked with a glistening smile in his drive way.

Emmanuel smiled right back and with his index finger, he pressed down on the button situated on his keypad, ears perking up as the trunk of metal sang to confirm its reliability.

He entered it, a greedy smile on his lips as he thought of all the blood he'd gain from his current victim, all the screams he'd hear, all the pain-filled whimpers.

He couldn't stop anticipating it, his excitement was prominent and it stayed that way until he was parked in front of her home.

He stepped out of his car, an eerie smirk on his dangerously red lips, a hand in his deep pocket and the other clenched tight around his briefcase.

He approached the door, knocking a count of three times the moment he got close enough.

It was time to feed his blood lust, to fill his imaginary jar of blood.

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AN/| Whoa, this man truly is a psycho, but I can't judge him when I created him!?

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